


The Christmas Spell

by Glisseo



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 15:43:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17025462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glisseo/pseuds/Glisseo
Summary: A series of one-shots featuring lesser-seen relationships and friendships, at Christmas time.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote this about four years ago, and have vowed every year since to add to it - and inspiration has never struck, sadly. However, I happened across it again and found that I actually really like these pieces - and I hope you do too.

You could hear the music and raucous laughter from miles around, up at the topsy-turvy house in the hills, where light blazed from the windows and smoke puffed steadily from the chimneys. It was, Andromeda thought,  _alive_.

It would be warm in there. She drew her cloak closer around the child in her arms, shielding him from the nasty December chill, and looked again at the house. There was a lopsided wreath on the front door; a mat on the step was so faded that the 'welcome' was barely readable.

It would only take a second to knock. What was the alternative? The little house, that didn't feel quite so much like a home anymore. Dark and silent. Eight month old babies weren't, she thought wryly, much company.

_Welcome_ , the mat said, or had once said, but was she? He'd insisted she would be. They'd never turn anyone away, he said. But she rather thought he was only saying it out of some moral obligation, conscience, or because it was simply what decent people did.

To say that Harry Potter had been a surprise would be misleading.

The real truth of it was that he hadn't  _stopped_  surprising her since the moment he'd turned up at her door seven months earlier, looking unexpectedly nervous for a man – a boy – who had just defeated the Darkest wizard for a century.

"I was wondering if – if I could see Teddy?" he'd ventured cautiously. "I don't know if they …" his voice had cracked at the merest mention of Nymphadora and Remus – "if they told you, but they made me godfather, and I –"

Andromeda had wanted to say no.

A small part of her had even wanted to slam the door in his face, to lock herself and her grandson away from the cruel world that had taken so much from them both. Potter had done great things, but he was reckless and impulsive – you had to be, to do what he'd done; he was a teenager, and his interest would wane in a few weeks. His own godfather – well, she'd never known him as an adult, but in his youth he too had been reckless and impulsive and it was hard to imagine Potter had been set much of an example.

No, this boy, who had made his first impression by crash-landing in her pond and shouting at her, would not stick around. Teenage heroes did not care for babies.

But there was something that stopped her from closing the door.

It was the look in his eyes, and the crack in his voice, and the pure  _weariness_ of him, like he'd lived a hundred years past seventeen. It was how fondly Remus and Nymphadora had spoken of him, and the reluctant knowledge that they would have wanted Andromeda to give him a chance.

She watched him now, sitting cross-legged on the floor, Teddy on his lap. It was two days before Christmas, and Harry had brought a clumsily wrapped gift; Andromeda had watched warily, and Harry anxiously, as a round-eyed Teddy had been helped to shed the paper and reveal a small picture book,  _The Very Peculiar Puffskein_.

"Is that all right?" Harry, glancing up, had asked worriedly. "I wasn't sure what to get …"

"He seems to like it," said Andromeda, and indeed, Teddy was enchanted by the moving, brightly-coloured illustrations. "You could read it to him," she suggested, and now the two were settled on the rug, Teddy gazing, mesmerised, at the pictures, while Harry read in a surprisingly animated manner. He was even, to Andromeda's amazement, putting on silly voices for the characters, which delighted Teddy no end.

"… and the Puffskein knew he'd made a friend for life," Harry finished. The final note in his voice seemed to make Teddy realise the story was over. He let out a wail of discontent, at which point Andromeda leapt up.

"Naptime, I think," she said, reaching over to take the baby from Harry. "He only cries when he's tired."

When she came back to the living room, she found Harry still sitting on the rug, gazing at the book. She wondered, with uncharacteristic sentimentality, if he was thinking about his own childhood: an orphan too, even though he'd had more time with his parents, he wouldn't remember it.

Perhaps that was why he'd been so good with Teddy, in a way she hadn't expected at all. Cautious at first – he'd never been around babies before, he'd explained nervously – he soon grew more comfortable with his godson, helped by visits every single week, without fail, despite the fact that he'd entered the Ministry's gruelling Auror programme and was, by all accounts, helping enormously to rebuild the broken wizarding community. He could have taken off, left the country, celebrated his victory by being wild and free –

But he hadn't. He'd stayed put, continuing to give back more than anyone could have asked of him.

Andromeda, studying him, felt a sudden and unexpected wave of compassion.

"Would you like something to drink? Tea?" she offered, making him jump: he hadn't realised she had returned. "It's cold outside. I don't know if you want to wait until Teddy's up again …"

"Oh," said Harry, clearly thrown, "er – well – yeah, I wouldn't mind, if it's no trouble … I don't want to bother you … Can I help?"

"No, it's fine, I can manage." Did that sound too sharp? He looked vaguely uncomfortable, left to his own devices in someone else's house. When she came back with the tea, he leapt to his feet so quickly he almost toppled straight back down again.

"Thanks a lot," he said, taking a scalding cup from her without even flinching. "It's very kind of you to … I don't want to intrude …"

"Teddy will be pleased to see you still here. He enjoys these visits."

"Right." Harry stared at his cup. "Me too."

They sipped their tea in silence. It was unbearably awkward: they were rarely alone together, but seeing the expression on his face as he'd looked at that book … Andromeda, who was, after all, still a mother, couldn't send him out after that.

"You chose well, for Teddy," she said, to break the silence.

"Really?" Harry glanced up, his face flooded with a kind of uncertain hopefulness. "It wasn't really me. My friend Hermione helped me … I thought she'd have a better idea …"

"Well, it was a good choice."

"Thank – thank you."

Another silence. Andromeda could see that Harry was struggling to find something to say. She knew how it was: Nymphadora's school friends, when she'd had them to stay (in droves; her daughter, like Ted, had been extremely popular) had quaked in front of her. She gave off an intimidating air, Nymphadora had reported. It was hard to know what to say to her. Of course Ted, who could have befriended a brick wall, hadn't had much trouble – it had been impossible to react coolly to his enthusiastic optimism – but he'd been special. They were special.

She suppressed a sigh, and took pity on him.

"Have you any plans for Christmas?"

"Er, kind of. I'll just be going to the Burr- the Weasleys' place."

Of course - he was close to the Weasleys, and dating the daughter, whom Andromeda had liked at once when Harry had brought her to meet Teddy in the summer. A real bright spark of a girl, she had the kind of presence that reminded one of a roaring log fire in winter.

"And – and you?" asked Harry tentatively.

"Me?" Andromeda was surprised. "No, not really. We shan't be going anywhere."

"You'll just be staying here? Just you and Teddy?"

She could see him glancing around the room, which was noticeably devoid of decorations or a tree. She had lingered over the boxes in the loft, but the memories that came with them – Ted lifting his little Dora onto his shoulders so she could place the star on the top of the tree, clumsily making paper chains by hand, his jolly but tuneless voice belting out Muggle Christmas carols all the while – were too strong, and too painful, and she had shoved the boxes out of sight and fled.

After all, Teddy wouldn't remember.

"Yes," she replied stiffly, holding back a snappish  _do you have a problem with that?_

And he did, she could tell. He was frowning deeply. "But –"

"I don't see," she interrupted sharply, "that we have anywhere else to go."

"But you do!"

Now she was frowning, and in contrast, Harry suddenly looked animated again. "I beg your pardon?"

He leant forwards eagerly. "Come to the Burrow! You – you shouldn't be here on your own." He chewed his lip pensively for a moment, apparently struggling with some unspoken thought, then said – awkward again – "you deserve a happy Christmas too, you know."

_He never stopped surprising her_.

Thrown, Andromeda managed to say, "I couldn't intrude on another family's Christmas."

"You wouldn't be intruding. They'd never turn anyone away, and they  _like_ having more people there. I reckon they'd be upset if they knew you were here by yourself. They invited Ton- Dora, before, and Remus, when he didn't have anywhere else to go …"

It was both a clever and surprisingly underhanded move, mentioning Nymphadora and Remus, and he knew it.

"That may well be," said Andromeda, "but I am not a friend of the Weasleys –"

Ted had been, she thought absently. He'd often hung around with Arthur Weasley, and she recalled a brief flash of a memory – standing in the corridor, watching him laugh with Molly Prewett, and feeling a sting of jealousy -

"It doesn't matter," Harry pressed. "Please, Mrs. Tonks, just think about it …"

Why was he being so insistent? Just so he could spend the holiday with Teddy? It seemed like there was something more to it, but for the life of her, Andromeda couldn't put her finger on it.

She shook her head.

"I appreciate the invitation. But I couldn't possibly accept."

Harry looked as if he would like to argue further, but after a moment he shrugged and said, "all right. But –"

Typical Gryffindor.

"- you should - consider it. Please."

"Thank you," said Andromeda, and they both heard her silent  _but I won't be changing my mind_ , and it lingered in the air between them.

It was tempting, she realised, once Harry had gone. She pictured a warm, bustling house full of people to fuss over Teddy, who would love the attention. Drink and conversation flowing.  
But then she imagined herself.  
On the sidelines, in the shadows, more alone than ever in a crowd of people.

Molly Weasley had killed Bellatrix, they said. Andromeda wasn't angry, not in the slightest, but she, with her resemblance to Bella, would surely create tension … who would want to talk to her, the grim-faced widow, the Black, the Slytherin?

She missed Ted so much it hurt. Andromeda Black, who had been too soft for her family and too cold for everyone else, had somehow fit in perfectly with Ted Tonks, fair in every sense of the word, with such a good heart that it had scared her at first. He had been the first person to ever really approach her, to extend to her a hand and say  _come on_  – but he was gone, and no one, she knew, would reach out to her now.

*  
In the end, it had been Teddy's doing.

He was a social creature even at eight months old, just like his namesake, and knowing how much he would adore a family like the Weasleys – not to mention seeing Harry – Andromeda realised she had to make the decision not for herself, but for her grandson.

And so she was here, on the doorstep of the Weasleys' home. Thoroughly apprehensive about what would happen if she knocked.

When she knocked.

"Oh! Hello!"

The door was flung open by a tall, thin man she immediately recognised as Arthur Weasley, who stared at her disconcertedly for a moment, before giving himself a little shake and rushing forwards to clasp her hand.

"Mrs. Tonks! How marvellous! Harry  _did_ say you might be coming, of course, completely slipped my mind – but then most things do these days!"

He laughed shrilly in a way that made him sound slightly unhinged, and Andromeda smiled as politely as she could.

"I do hope I'm not intruding. Harry -"

"No, no, not at all! Not at all! Come in, come in, frightful out there, do come into the warm – and is this little Teddy?" He gazed into the bundle of blankets, momentarily silenced. Then he said " _marvellous_ ," again, and led them straight into the midst of a room packed with red-haired people.

As predicted, they made a beeline for Teddy, though shock registered on most of the freckled faces as they saw Andromeda. Molly Weasley, looking wary, merely smiled tightly from a distance and moved on through the crowd.

"Oh, ze baby!" said a ridiculously beautiful blonde girl, beaming at Andromeda and reaching out. "May I -?"

"Of course."

The girl, who introduced herself as Fleur, cradled a happily gurgling Teddy tenderly. "I remember ze day 'e was born," she told Andromeda. "'Is  _père_ was so 'appy – 'e rushed over to tell us!"

"Seems like only yesterday," added a tall, heavily scarred man Andromeda vaguely placed as Bill. He put an arm around Fleur and smiled down at Teddy, whose hair promptly turned bright red.

The people around him gasped.

"Oh! Is he -?"

"A Metamorphmagus," said Andromeda. "Yes."

More people yet came to coo over Teddy, but then slowly drifted to other parts of the house, clutching glasses of mulled wine and chatting. Andromeda settled herself and Teddy in a corner and watched the festivities. They seemed slightly forced, but then the Weasleys, of course, had also lost a child that year …

"Mrs. Tonks!" said a startled, familiar voice.

Harry had appeared in front of her, his expression disbelieving.

"I didn't think you'd come," he said. "Hi, Teddy!" He held his finger out for the baby to grab, then lightly tickled his chin. "Can I sit?"

Surprised, Andromeda nodded, and he plunked down next to her, stretching his long legs out.

"Look," he began, "I didn't mean to – to force you, or anything. To come here, I mean. I just thought maybe … it would be better than being alone."

_Was it?_ Andromeda wondered. Better for Teddy, at least. That was enough.

"I know I've always loved spending Christmas here." Harry glanced at her. "They're good about – taking people in, the Weasleys."

"It's very kind of them." But they hadn't invited her, had they? He had.

"Listen, Mrs. Tonks …"

Someday, she'd say to him 'call me Andromeda', but not yet.

"… I just wanted to say thanks for letting me get to know Teddy. You didn't have to … and I know you probably wanted some time to yourself. I just had this – I was really determined to make sure Teddy would have people around, y'know?" He turned faintly red, as if he felt he was sharing too much. "But – yeah. Thanks."

He wanted, in other words, to make sure Teddy wouldn't be like him. It was touching. "It's been good for Teddy. And thank  _you_ for taking the time to see him. I didn't think you would." Whoops. She hadn't meant to say that … but Harry smiled.

"I don't think I made a great first impression."

"No," Andromeda allowed, amused, "but your second one was significantly better."

"It couldn't really have been worse." Harry glanced over at the door, where his girlfriend had just come in, but then turned back to Andromeda. "I  _am_ sorry about that. I shouldn't have …"

"It's forgotten. Look, don't you – aren't there other people you'd like to talk to?" She nodded over at Ginny.

Harry shrugged. "I'm all right. I've been with them all day." As Andromeda stared at him, nonplussed, he added, "I'm really glad you came tonight, by the way."

She couldn't find the words to respond.

No one would reach out to her now.

Perhaps he hadn't invited her just to see Teddy.

Good people, genuinely good people, did things like this. Harry, a hero, undoubtedly had some kind of draw to saving people; she knew he probably hoped he was saving her from loneliness. On one hand, the thought was laughable, but on the other …

Well, she was here, wasn't she? Thanks to this young man who sat with her by choice, who said he was glad she'd come, whose company, she realised now, she'd rather come to enjoy. She cared about him. She never wanted to care for another person again – you couldn't lose someone you didn't care for – but somehow, she'd been dragged into feeling compassion for a boy who'd lost so much himself … Because he knew Teddy wouldn't be like himself. Teddy already had something Harry had never had, loving family to take him in, and the truth was he would turn out fine without a godfather in his life. He didn't  _need_ Harry. But Harry needed him, and so did she. So they would spend time together, and get to know each other, and at some point, Harry Potter would become part of her life for good.

And she looked forward to it.

"It was," she said eventually, "my pleasure."


	2. Chapter 2

Shivering and grumbling, red-nosed from the cold, Professor Longbottom's sixth years made their reluctant way into Greenhouse Three. There, they took a moment to shed themselves of bags and books, before starting up the symphony of complaints again.

"It's  _cold_ , sir!"

Roisin Fawcett's teeth chattered as she blinked beguiling eyes at her teacher, though Neville couldn't be entirely sure she hadn't just been eating Ice Mice.

"It's not that bad," he said bracingly. "I've got some good hard work for you today, anyway, it'll warm you up in no time."

"But  _sir –_ "

"Couldn't we have the lesson somewhere else?" Becky Hardwick appealed. "Somewhere with a fire, maybe –"

"We sort of need the plants in the greenhouse," Neville told her apologetically.

"Can't you cast Heating Charms on all of us, sir?" asked Jack Ackerley, and a number of hopeful faces turned to Neville, who hastily poured water on  _that_ suggestion.

"Technically," he said, "I'm not really supposed to do magic on students. Professor McGonagall is quite firm about it. Don't know why. Er – right, shall we get started? Gloves on, everybody …"

The class grumbled some more as they set to work at their stations: it  _was_  cold in the greenhouse, and the sixth years' breath was visible with each complaint.

"Sir," said Marvin Plumpton, "sir, did you know this is our last lesson before the holidays?"

It was Neville's, too. "And?"

"Well, we just had our last DADA lesson, sir, and Professor Everett gave us sweets and told us stories about when he was an Auror."

"It was wicked," Jack chipped in. "He's  _so_ cool."

The others nodded their agreement, and Neville's stomach churned.

"Sir …"

"Marvin?"

"You have stories about the war, don't you?" Marvin glanced at his classmates, who were listening eagerly. "You've got that coin still. You could tell us about Dumbledore's Army …"

Ah, the coin. The coin Neville had brought out in his first week of teaching, shown to all his classes, who had gazed at him with something akin to awe, blown away that they were being taught by an actual former member of Dumbledore's Army. Apparently that was the only way Neville could hold any credibility with his students: if he had just been plain old Professor Longbottom, never having fought in a war, he was fairly sure no one would have even bothered turning up to his classes.

"This could come up in your exam …" he began hedgingly. "I don't want to put you at a disadvantage. I'm here to teach you –"

"Oh,  _sir!_ "

Neville hesitated. He thought about what Harry would do, and made a decision.

"All right," he said. "All right. But you have to promise you won't use this information to form a student uprising, OK? I don't think Professor McGonagall would be pleased."

The sixth years cheered. Forcing a smile, Neville perched on the edge of his table and cleared his throat.

"You probably know that Dumbledore's Army ended up fighting in the Battle of Hogwarts, but that wasn't how we started …"

*

"That was brill, sir," said Jack enthusiastically. "Can you just tell us stories every week?"

"I doubt it would come up on the NEWT," said Neville, his voice slightly hoarse from speaking for so long. The ringing of the bell had been met, for once, by groans: the class had never before seemed keen to linger in the greenhouse.

"Are you going home tomorrow, sir?" asked Becky. She paused. "Are you married?"

"Yes. And no," said Neville, thinking of Hannah. "Why?"

"Just curious," Becky said chirpily, winding her scarf tightly around her neck. "You're coming back in January, aren't you? You're not just temporary?"

Neville hesitated. "No, I … hadn't you all better be off to dinner? You must be hungry."

"Oh yeah, I'm  _starving_ \- have a good Christmas, sir!"

"Yeah, happy Christmas!"

"Say hello to Dumbledore's Army for us!"

As soon as the door had closed behind the last student, Neville slumped, running a hand over his face. There was a horrible gnawing at his gut, a fear he hadn't liked to let out as the term went on. But now -

He wondered if it was too short notice for the Headmistress to find a new Herbology teacher in time for the next term.

It was dinnertime, but he didn't feel hungry at all, so when he locked up the greenhouse and set off back up to the castle, he bypassed the Great Hall and headed straight for the marble staircase. A cup of tea in his office ought to fortify him a little, and then he'd pack for his return home. He'd see Hannah tomorrow, that was something –

"Professor Longbottom, aren't you going to dinner?"

The clipped tones made Neville stop short: it was still hard, sometimes, to remember that he wasn't going to be told off about badly done homework or a spell gone wrong. He waited for Professor McGonagall to catch up with him, then shook his head.

"I had a big lunch," he lied.

"Hmm." The Headmistress' beady eyes narrowed behind her spectacles. "Are you quite well, Professor?"

"I – yes, I'm fine."

"Back home tomorrow, is it?"

"Yes, Professor."

Other staff addressed each other by their first names, but Neville, who had been taught by most of them, couldn't bring himself to do so, and he knew there was a bigger chance of him receiving Teacher of the Year than there was of Professor McGonagall ever calling him  _Neville_.

She had started to walk along the corridor, and since he had not been dismissed, Neville hurriedly fell into step with her.

"Something is troubling you, Professor." She gave him a sidelong, searching look. "Isn't it?"

And suddenly, Neville was too tired to lie anymore.

"Yeah."

Professor McGonagall said nothing. She seemed to be waiting for him to speak, and he took a deep breath and did.

"I … it's just … when I took this job I was determined to be a teacher everyone liked. I wanted to be their  _favourite_ teacher. But …" he swallowed, and continued with difficulty, "I'm not. They only think I'm  _cool_ when I talk about the stuff that happened with the DA. If it weren't for any of that they'd think I was – nothing. They wouldn't even care."

He glanced at his old teacher, feeling hot around the face, convinced he'd said too much. It was never nice to admit your insecurities, but to someone like Professor McGonagall – whom he deeply admired, even if he still feared her, too …

For a moment, she said nothing. Then:

"You say none of your students would call you their favourite teacher. Do you actually  _know_ this? For a fact?"

Nonplussed, Neville said, "well, I think I'd know, wouldn't I?"

"Perhaps," said McGonagall. "But – might I ask you something?"

"Of – of course."

"Your favourite teacher from your time here – who would that have been? Do not worry," she added, amusement touching her voice, "I am not expecting to you say  _me_ ; I know I was always rather too harsh on you."

Feeling slightly awkward, Neville considered the question.

"I suppose … Professor Lupin? Yeah."

"And did you ever tell him so?"

A 'yes' formed on Neville's lips before he gave it a thought: then he reconsidered. It seemed obvious, he had liked Lupin so much, but –

"No." The answer surprised him. "I didn't."

"I thought as much," said McGonagall. "And that isn't a slight on you. Students, generally, don't communicate like that. But that doesn't mean they don't think well of you. Often, they find other ways of showing it …"

She drew to a sudden halt, and Neville, starting, realised they had reached his office. He looked bewilderingly at McGonagall, who simply raised an eyebrow, as if to say 'well?'

Thoroughly confused, Neville opened the door – and stopped dead.

Christmas cards.

Stacks and stacks of them, flooding the desk and spilling onto the floor, envelopes of red and white and gold. And all – from what he could see – with the same name written on the front.

He tore open the nearest one, hardly daring to believe his eyes. A snowy scene, and on the inside -

 _To Professor Longbottom,_  
Happy Christmas! Hope you have a really good one!  
Becky H

"Just think," came McGonagall's voice from behind him, and he turned to her, clutching the card like it might disappear if he didn't hold on tightly enough, "you've only been teaching here for three months. We may need to find you a bigger office next year."

She made to leave.

"Wait – Professor –"

Neville stared at the cards, then looked back up at her.

"Merry Christmas."

Professor McGonagall smiled.

"Merry Christmas, Neville," she said, and then she was gone.


	3. Chapter 3

_Hand outstretched, his face very warm, he muttered, "see you, Harry."_

" _Yeah …" Harry seemed to hesitate. "Maybe."_

_*_

Dudley hated writing Christmas cards. He hated anything that involved writing, but the process of writing out the same words over and over, not to mention looking up addresses and licking those damn envelopes, was so tedious that he often left it as late as he possibly could – which was to say, as late as his wife would allow.

"Almost done?"

And she still checked to make sure he was doing it.

"Almost," said Dudley. He tossed the envelope he'd just addressed onto the slowly growing pile, flexed his cramping fingers, and consulted his list. Under Aunt Marge's name, which he now crossed off, only one remained.

Karen, peering over his shoulder, read aloud, "Harry. Who's Harry?"

"My cousin," Dudley said, reaching for another card and flipping the address book to  _P._

His wife frowned.

"You've never mentioned a cousin."

"Haven't I?" he said vaguely, concentrating more on the card. His hand hurt. He really hated writing.

"No. I thought you didn't have any other aunts or uncles."

"I don't."

"Then how could you have a cousin?"

"Oh. Right. They died." 'Christmas' was such a long word. "Harry was only a baby so he came to live with us –"

"He  _lived_ with you?" Karen sounded amazed: Dudley, still focusing on the card, could nonetheless feel her staring at him. "But – he wasn't at the wedding! How come I've never heard of him?"  
_  
_ "I dunno …"

 _From Dudley_. There. He slipped the card into an envelope, wrote out Harry's address as quickly as he could, and pressed a stamp into the top right hand corner.

"Done," he said, pleased.

"You send him a Christmas card, but you've never once mentioned him!" Karen exclaimed, ignoring his accomplishment. "Is this the only contact you have with him?"

Dudley nodded.

"Where does he live?"

"Er –" He glanced at the envelope. "Herefordshire."

"What does he do?"

"I dunno."

"Is he married?"

"Er … dunno."

His wife gazed at him in utter incomprehension.  
_  
"How can you not know?"_ she cried. "He's your cousin! You lived in the same house! How can you not have thought about him?"

This one Dudley knew the answer to, but he had a feeling she wouldn't be happy with it.

"I just didn't," he said, simply, and that was all there was to it.

Well. That wasn't  _quite_ all.

Dudley had not seen Harry for ten years, since the Dursleys had left Privet Drive and Harry had gone off to do – something. Since then, things had changed significantly for Dudley. The life he led now was simple. He liked things simple.

That was part of the reason he'd tucked Harry, and everything to do with him, into the back of his mind after returning to Privet Drive years before. Back then, he'd allowed himself to wonder – the wizards said the war was over, that Harry had saved them all, and nothing else – but life went on, and Dudley had happily gone with it. His parents never mentioned Harry again, and it was possible that, given time, Dudley might have forgotten about his cousin entirely – if it weren't for the Christmas cards.

The first one, the year the Dursleys had returned to Little Whinging, had arrived in the dead of night with an owl that startled Dudley horribly by tapping loudly on his bedroom window. Very confused, he'd torn it open to find a simple message –  _to Dudley, happy Christmas, from Harry –_ and an address, somewhere in Devon, scrawled on the inside of the card.

It had taken him the rest of the night and the next morning to decide what to do. On his way home later in the day, he had stopped to buy a card and a stamp, sat on the wall outside to write it, and posted it straight off so his parents would never know what he had done. Harry's card was hidden, in a stroke of rare genius that surprised even himself, in the bedroom his cousin had left bare last summer: the only place in the house he knew his mum and dad would never go.

Once the card was sent, he forgot all about it.

By nature, Dudley was not one to dwell on things. He moved out, got a job, a wife, and a family, and Harry became a fact of the past, rather than a person who was still out there, living in the same country, perhaps with his own family. The Christmas cards were received and written on autopilot: they were lumped in with those to work colleagues and old friends and not once did Harry cross his mind for more than a fleeting second. It was like a wall had been subconsciously erected in his mind: or, rather, like that part of his life had been put in the cupboard under the stairs, and subsequently forgotten about …

But now the door had been opened. Although Karen was soon occupied by other things and abandoned her line of questioning, Dudley found himself turning her words over in his mind for the rest of the day.  _Was_ Harry married? What did he do? Several times, he glanced at the telephone, before remembering that wizards, even if they did have phones, were probably ex-directory.

He tried to put it out of his head as he loaded the dishwasher after dinner, then settled down with Karen and the kids to watch some celebrity game show, but he couldn't focus. He kept thinking about the last time he'd seen Harry. They'd shaken hands … what would happen if they were to meet again?

By the time he and Karen went to bed, he was writing a letter in his head, asking Harry if he would be open to the possibility of a meeting.

The next morning, he woke to find the other side of the bed empty and the house quiet. It took him a moment to remember that Karen had taken the boys out to buy presents for their friends (and, Dudley assumed, for him).  
He got up, dressed, and went down to the kitchen to fix himself breakfast. He had just finished when the sound of the post arriving came from the hall, and Dudley, brushing crumbs from his shirt, went to get it.

He bent to pick up the pile, then stopped dead.

The first, square envelope – a Christmas card - was crisp and white, but the stamp affixed to it was wonky, and the handwriting in which Dudley's name and address were written was an untidy scrawl. Familiar, of course – he saw it every year.

He ripped away the envelope and stared, dazedly, at Harry's card. The message inside hadn't changed since the very first one.

Dudley was not usually an impulsive man, but at that moment he was struck by a sudden compulsion so strong that his mind was wiped blank but for this one thought. He moved as if controlled by an external force: shoving the card in his pocket, he grabbed his car keys and jacket and headed straight out of the front door without hesitating.

The address Harry had sent several years earlier was not especially far, but it seemed that way to Dudley, who – now he had set determinedly off on this journey – was keen to get on with it. He didn't want to have time to wonder what might happen. This was it: no turning back.

It was late morning by the time he reached the area in which Harry lived, and while that was easy enough to find thanks to his satnav – though he was prone to getting short with the patronising female voice – the house itself proved more elusive. Finally, the car climbed up a steep incline in a small, picturesque village, on the edge of which was (he hoped) Harry's home. He parked clumsily on the sloping driveway, got out of the car, and stood back to survey the place.

It looked like it had once been a barn, since converted. A cat sat washing itself on the doorstep: it eyed Dudley balefully as he made his way to the front door, which had flaking yellow paint.

He took a deep breath and knocked.

A shout echoed from somewhere inside the house, followed by footsteps, which grew louder and louder, until the door flew open and Dudley found himself looking down at a short woman with startlingly bright red hair.

"Hello," she said, slowly and warily, squinting up at him. "Can I help you?"

"Er – yeah," said Dudley. "Uh. I was looking for Harry Potter ..?"

"Is he expecting you?"

From the tone of her voice, Dudley gathered that she thought it was unlikely.

"Uh. No. I was just … passing by … and I thought I'd drop in …" She was frowning: he sensed that she might shut the door in his face at any second. "I'm his cousin!" he rushed on in a sudden stroke of inspiration, and at that, the woman's brown eyes widened: they flickered over his face, scrutinising him, sizing him up.

There was a moment's silence, then she said, "you'd better come in."

Dudley's heart was thumping. Hiding his clammy hands in his pockets, he followed her into the house.

She led him through a warm hallway where the walls were lined with framed photographs, and Dudley, looking curiously at them, blinked – were they  _moving?_ She was marching along too briskly for him to get a good look, but he was fairly certain a person in one photo had just waved at him …

He shook his head sharply and followed the woman through a door at the end of the hall, which led to a roomy kitchen. It had a high ceiling, with wooden beams that cast criss-crossing shadows in the golden sunlight filtering through a large window which faced out onto a garden. A long, scrubbed pine table stood in the middle of the room, strewn with papers, mugs, and general mess: yet more photographs clustered the mantelpiece of an old-fashioned fireplace, and there was an owl asleep on a perch by the door. It was by no means the only strange thing Dudley could see: a quill was scribbling on a long piece of parchment trailing off the end of the table, the dishes in the sink appeared to be scrubbing themselves and although nobody was holding it, a brush swept busily across the floor, a dustpan following in its wake.

As he gaped, gobsmacked, the back door crashed open and two small boys cannoned noisily into the kitchen.

"MUUUUUM!"

"MUM IT WASN'T ME –"

The red-haired woman stopped in front of them, hands on hips, and for half a beat, the boys fell silent. Then -

"MUM, JAMES –"

"I DIDN'T DO IT!" shouted the stockier of the two. Dudley couldn't see their faces, but unlike their mother, they both sported jet black hair. "I  _didn't_ , Al's LYING – who's that?"

He had spotted Dudley. The other boy looked at where his brother was pointing, and Dudley felt as if the floor had been pulled out from under his feet.

It was  _Harry_.

Of course, it wasn't, but – the similarity was astonishing. The boy didn't wear glasses, and there was no scar on his forehead, but everything else, from the untidy shock of hair Vernon had hated so much, to the knobbly knees Dudley had made fun of, was identical.

He knew, suddenly, somehow, that coming here had been the right thing to do.

"It's rude to stare!" the boys' mother told them sharply, but they ignored her.

"Who are you?" asked the taller one.

"I'm Dudley," said Dudley.

"Why are y-"

"It isn't any of your business, James, so hush," said the woman firmly. "I want you two to stay right here until I come back and  _no fighting_ , is that clear?"

The boys, still goggling at the visitor, muttered acquiescence.

"Good. Come with me," she said to Dudley, leading him to the back door. "He's out here."

The garden was rather overgrown and bore obvious traces of children, but still looked attractive under a light covering of snow. There was a rickety old shed at the foot of the lawn. When they reached it, the woman, shivering slightly, tapped once on the door.

"Harry, there's someone here to see you ..."

There was a pause, and then the door opened and Harry Potter appeared.

Dudley stared at him.

Harry stared back.

" _Dudley?_ "

The shed, to Dudley's astonishment, turned out to be far larger on the inside, even accommodating a small, sagging sofa. There were yet more strange things in here: the subjects of the childish drawings papering the walls were moving, as were the green-clad women in a faded poster above the sofa, which bore the caption  _Holyhead Harpies 2001-2_. A large, gleaming motorbike leant against a wall in the corner.

"Cool bike," said Dudley in surprise. "That yours?"

Harry didn't look up. "Yeah."

He was crouching over some long planks of wood, frowning as he twirled a hammer in one hand. Dudley guessed that he didn't really know how to deal with his unexpected visitor: he'd let him into the shed after the red-haired woman had tactfully made a swift exit, but now an awkward silence had fallen.

In any case, it was giving Dudley a chance to study his cousin closely. It seemed incredibly bizarre that just a few hours ago he'd been having breakfast at home, when now he stood in Harry's shed. They hadn't seen each other for over ten years. Since then, Harry had gone off and done – supposedly – great things, magical things, in a world Dudley knew very little of, but here - hunkered down on the floor, in muddy old jeans and a lumpy knitted jumper – he seemed remarkably normal. Just a regular bloke, a husband and father, like -

Well, like Dudley.

"So … how've you been?"

It took a moment to register that Harry was talking to him.

"Er, good," he replied self-consciously. "Good. Great. How about you?"

Harry straightened up, wiping his hands on his jeans. "Yeah, good," he echoed, and squinted at Dudley, who saw that the round glasses and lightning scar were the same as ever.

"You're probably wondering why I'm here."

"It did cross my mind," Harry agreed. "I dunno about you, but usually when my estranged cousins turn up at my house after years and years I tend to think there's a reason for it."

Recognising the characteristic sarcasm, Dudley said nothing.

"You're not in any kind of … trouble, are you?" Fleeting unease crossed Harry's face. "I reckon it would have to be pretty serious for you to come to me, but –"

"No. Nothing like that," said Dudley hurriedly. "I just … I just thought I should."

"You  _should_?" repeated Harry, dark eyebrows contracting.

"No … not should … I dunno. I didn't really think about it. My wife was asking about you yesterday and I realised I didn't know anything about you and then your card came …"

He was making a real mess of this: he should have planned it better – or at all. The truth was he didn't really have a good reason at all for appearing on Harry's doorstep; it had been a whim, a stupid whim, and he'd never felt so confused in his life.

"You do know stuff about me," said Harry, who had listened to his explanation with a faintly quizzical expression. "But I'm guessing you didn't tell your wife the biggest thing."

"That you're a – a -" Dudley swallowed. "A wizard?"

Harry looked slightly impressed.

"Yeah. You probably could tell her. I don't think that breaks the Statute of Secrecy."

Dudley didn't have a clue what he was talking about, but nodded anyway. "I didn't say anything about it. She asked if you were married and what you did and I didn't know  _that_."

"So you drove all this way to ask me?"

"Not exactly … I dunno," Dudley muttered. "Not just that. I wanted to know if … if you'd want to see me."

Harry had turned back to the strips of wood on the ground. Kneeling down again, he picked up a crumpled diagram and examined it. The frown reappeared on his forehead, and he didn't answer Dudley, who wasn't sure he'd been heard.

"What are you making?" he asked, raising his voice.

"A sledge. For the kids. I'd have done it the norm- with magic, or bought one, but apparently Timmy-from-school's dad built  _his_ sledge completely from scratch and I've been requested – ordered, actually - to do the same."

Dudley hesitated, then said, "I've made stuff for my kids. A tree-house in the garden, that kind of thing. I'm not bad with woodwork."

He paused.

"I could help. If you liked."

Harry looked at him, his expression unreadable. Then, without saying a word, he held out a hammer, and Dudley took it.

*

"Are you still boxing? Or did you give that up?"

The tea that Harry's wife – Ginny – had brought out was pouring itself, but Dudley tried not to look at that as he answered Harry's question.

"I carried on for a few years after school. Did pretty well, but I messed up my shoulder before too long and had to quit. I got offered a job as a boxing coach at another school, though."

"You're doing that now?"

"Yeah. At the school my boys will be going to in a few years. They're not really into it, but Owen - my oldest - he plays football."

"Yeah?" Harry sounded genuinely interested as he passed Dudley a nail. "My lot are obsessed with Quidditch, but that's no surprise. My daughter's already set on going professional."

A mere hour ago, that statement would have befuddled Dudley, but he now knew that Quidditch was a wizarding sport, and that Ginny Potter had played it professionally before retiring to become a sports journalist.

The conversation had not been non-stop as they worked on the sledge: occasionally they had fallen into a fairly companionable silence, broken only by Harry swearing under his breath as he hit himself in the thumb with his hammer.

Dudley was surprised to find, after some time had passed, that he felt comfortable working alongside his cousin and chatting lightly. After what had happened at Privet Drive, it could well have been very different. Harry would have been excused for hating his guts.

But he didn't seem to.

"No offence, Dud," he said when Dudley hesitantly put the question to him, "but I'm far too busy to waste my time hating you."

"What about Mum and Dad?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't really care either way. I doubt they'd be too keen to meet up and talk about the good old days –" a faint grin – "and I'm fine with that."

"But you don't mind me showing up?" asked Dudley unsurely.

"Of course not," said Harry, sounding surprised. "Honestly, Dudley, it's like – you're a different person. I've got nothing against you. After all, I sent the first Christmas card, didn't I?"

"Why did you do that? I mean – you sent it at night. By … by owl. Why not by normal post?"

"Because I thought your mum and dad might see it, and they wouldn't be happy. And I …" He seemed to think carefully about his next words. "I didn't know how much you'd been told, I wanted to let you know that I was ali- all right. If you cared. Which I thought you might."

"Yeah, I did."

A sudden thought struck Dudley, along with a memory:  _'See you, Harry.' 'Yeah … maybe.'_

"When we left," he said slowly, "and I said see you, and you said maybe – was that because you didn't think you'd … survive?"

It took Harry a long time to answer; he fiddled absently with a nail, rolling it between his fingertips.

Eventually, he said, "Yeah."

Dudley spluttered in disbelief.

"You – and you still went and did – whatever it was? Even though you knew you might not make it?"

"It wasn't really my choice," said Harry guardedly. "I was the only one who could do it. And yeah, I knew I might not survive."

"Why didn't you tell us – me – that?"

He laughed.

"C'mon, Dudley. What was I supposed to say?  _No, actually, you won't see me, I'll probably have copped it._ That wouldn't have … it wasn't the right time or place. You didn't need to know."

"I would have wanted to know," said Dudley strongly. "I did care, you know! I told you, you saved my life –"

"Not really –"

"And you could have – you could have done something horrible to me, after all I did to you. But you didn't. And you got people to keep us safe that year." He blinked at his shoes. "You're … that was decent. Really decent."

Harry opened his mouth to say something, then shook his head and closed it again.

"I suppose," Dudley mumbled, "I didn't think about you all these years because it would've reminded me of what I was like."

"Yeah," said Harry, " _was like_." He sighed. "Look, it's all in the past now. I promise you I don't think about it. The reason  _I_ never got in touch with you properly was I thought you'd be leading a nice normal life and I didn't want to interfere in it."

Uncertain of how to reply to that, Dudley focused instead on the sledge, and was surprised to see that it was looking fairly finished.

"Hey – look!"

Harry's eyebrows shot up.

"That looks like a pretty decent sledge to me."

"Nice work," said Dudley, holding out his hand, palm out. Grinning, Harry slapped his own hand against it.

"Nice  _team_ work," he corrected. "When are you heading back? You could come in for some food, if you wanted."

"I should probably be getting back soon …" Dudley glanced at his watch, and was thrown by how much time had passed. "My wife will be home and she doesn't know I came here." He looked at Harry, suddenly awkward again. "If you're ever down our way, you know … you could drop in."

"Thanks," said Harry, grinning more widely. "I'll remember that."

Dudley got to his feet, stretching, and Harry followed him to the shed door.

"Have a good Christmas. I'll … I'll see you?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "Definitely. Happy Christmas, Big D."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't quite explain why, but out of all the things I've written, this is my favourite ...  
> Suggestions for further chapters are GLADLY WELCOMED!


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